Interesting Times - Terry Pratchett [23]
“Isn’t it dangerous, going around the Hub?” said Rincewind.
“Used to be,” said Cohen, grinning horribly.
“Until you left, you mean?”
“’S right. You still got that box on legs?”
“On and off. It hangs around. You know.” Cohen chuckled.
“I’ll get the bloody lid off that thing one day, mark my words. Ah. Horses.”
There were five, looking depressed in a small depression.
Rincewind looked back at the freed prisoners, who seemed to be milling around aimlessly.
“We’re not taking all five horses, are we?” he said.
“Sure. We might need ’em.”
“But…one for me, one for you…What’s the rest for?”
“Lunch, dinner, and breakfast?”
“It’s a little…unfair, isn’t it? Those people look a bit…bewildered.”
Cohen sneered the sneer of a man who has never been truly imprisoned even when he’s been locked up.
“I freed ’em,” he said. “First time they’ve ever been free. Comes as a bit of a shock, I expect. They’re waiting for someone to tell ’em what to do next.”
“Er…”
“I could tell ’em to starve to death, if you like.”
“Er…”
“Oh, all right. You lot! Formee uppee right now toot sweet chop chop!”
The small crowd hurried over to Cohen and stood expectantly behind his horse.
“I tell you, I don’t regret it. This is the land of opportunity,” said Cohen, urging the horse into a trot. The embarrassed free men jogged behind. “Know what? Swords are banned. No one except the army, the nobles and the Imperial Guard are allowed to own weapons. Couldn’t believe it! Gods’ own truth, though. Swords are outlawed, so only outlaws have swords. And that,” said Cohen, giving the landscape another glittering grin, “suits me fine.”
“But…you were in chains…” Rincewind ventured.
“Glad you reminded me,” said Cohen. “Yeah. We’ll find the rest of the lads, then I’d better try and find who did it and talk to them about that.”
The tone of his voice suggested very clearly that all they were likely to say would be, “Highly enjoyable! Your wife is a big hippo!”
“Lads?”
“No future in one-man barbarianing,” said Cohen. “Got myself a…Well, you’ll see.”
Rincewind turned to look at the trailing party, and at the snow, and at Cohen.
“Er. Do you know where Hunghung is?”
“Yeah. It’s the boss city. We’re on our way. Sort of. It’s under siege right now.”
“Siege? You mean like…lots of armies outside, everyone inside eating rats, that sort of thing?”
“Yeah, but this is the Counterweight Continent, see, so it’s a polite siege. Well, I call it a siege…The old Emperor’s dying, so the big families are all waiting to move in. That’s how it goes in these parts. There’s five different top nobs and they’re all watching one another, and no one’s going to be the first to move. You’ve got to think sideways to understand anything in this place.”
“Cohen?”
“Yes, lad?”
“What the hell’s going on?”
Lord Hong was watching the tea ceremony. It took three hours, but you couldn’t hurry a good cuppa.
He was also playing chess, against himself. It was the only way he could find an opponent of his calibre but, currently, things were stalemated because both sides were adopting a defensive strategy which was, admittedly, brilliant.
Lord Hong sometimes wished he could have an enemy as clever as himself. Or, because Lord Hong was indeed very clever, he sometimes wished for an enemy almost as clever as himself, one perhaps given to flights of strategic genius with nevertheless the occasional fatal flaw. As it was, people were so stupid. They seldom thought more than a dozen moves ahead.
Assassination was meat and drink to the Hunghung court; in fact, meat and drink were often the means. It was a game that everyone played. It was just another kind of move. It was not considered good manners to assassinate the Emperor, of course. The correct move was to put the Emperor in a position where you had control. But moves at this level were very dangerous; happy as the warlords were to squabble amongst themselves, they could be relied upon to unite against any who looked in danger of rising above the herd. And Lord